Never Say Goodbye (6 page)

“I agree. Apartment okay?”

Scott smiled. “Not according to my sister. But it's fine for now.”

“Still taking the bus everywhere?”

Scott reached for a cookie. “Yes. But I must admit that I'll be glad to get a car. I figure in another month or two, I should be able to swing it.”

“I'd be more than happy to loan you the—”

“No.” Scott cut him off firmly, then softened his
tone. “I appreciate the offer, Reverend. But I want to do this myself.”

“It's okay to accept
some
help, Scott.”

“I need it more on another front,” he replied with a sigh.

“Jess?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“How are things going?”

He shrugged. “I guess there's a little progress. We've run into each other a couple of times, and she's actually spoken to me.”

“That's a start.”

“Barely.”

“Hang in there. And keep praying.”

“I plan to.”

The minister took a sip of his soda, then carefully placed the can on the wooden bench. “I'd like to ask a favor of you, Scott.”

Scott looked at the man who had helped him find his way back to the Lord, who had given him a reason to live again. There was no way he could ever repay him for his kindness and caring. No favor would be too great. “Name it,” he said promptly.

“Well, a group of area churches will be sponsoring a one-day retreat in a few weeks. The title is ‘Coping with Adversity—Ask and You Shall Receive.' Some of the clergy will be giving talks and leading discussions, but we're also looking for people who are willing to give a firsthand account of how, in the face of tragedy, their faith helped them turn their lives around. You have a remarkable story to tell, Scott. We'd be honored if you'd share it.”

Scott stared at Reverend Young. Bare his soul in front of a group of strangers? He couldn't even imagine it! He'd never been the kind of guy who went around talking about his feelings—even to people he
knew.
Besides, he was no role model. His journey to faith had been a painful one, fraught with doubt and dead ends and despair. Hardly the stuff of inspiration. Yet he owed so much to Reverend Young. He hated to say no.

The minister smiled understandingly. “I can see you're surprised by my request.”

“That's too mild a word.” He raked his fingers through his hair and stared out at the placid waters of the pond for a moment before speaking. “It's not that I don't want to help, Reverend,” he said slowly. “But I've made a lot of mistakes. I'm not sure I'm the best example to hold up to people. There are a lot of things I'm still struggling with. And even though I do have hope, I'm not where I want to be yet.”

“That's precisely the point, Scott. Your hope will be inspiring to many people who are also struggling. And as for mistakes…that makes you human. Someone people can relate to. All of us have made mistakes, all of us have challenges in our lives. Generally not as big as the ones you've faced, thank God. But that's why your story will resonate with people. If you could find your way to God despite the problems that you had to shoulder, it gives all of us hope that we can do the same with our lesser struggles.” He paused for a moment, then delivered his powerful closing argument. “Your witness could make the difference in some life teetering on the edge of despair, Scott.”

Put that way, Scott realized that he was left with little choice. He had vowed to make his faith the center of his life, and here was a perfect opportunity to give something back to the Lord, who had sustained him through his trials. But it wouldn't be easy. He had never been comfortable sharing painful experiences. Even in the best days of his marriage he'd held back some of his doubts and fears from Jess, feeling that such an admission would somehow diminish him, make him less strong. Now he recognized that attitude, which still lingered, for what it was—a sin of pride. Funny. He thought the past three years had stripped away all remnants of his pride. Clearly, patience wasn't the only virtue he needed to work on, he acknowledged ruefully. Humility was right up there, too.

Scott took a deep breath. “You make it hard to say no. But this won't be easy for me, Reverend.”

The minister laid his hand on Scott's shoulder. “Not much worth doing is, Scott,” he said kindly. “But remember that when we have faith, we never do anything alone. And that knowledge should always give us the courage to carry on.”

 

“Hey, Skip. What's up?”

Jess smiled at her brother's voice and headed toward a comfortable chair, switching the portable phone to her other hand. “Are you ever going to stop calling me that?” she complained good-naturedly.

“Why should I?”

“Because I don't skip anymore, for one thing. And for another, that nickname is too childlike for an adult woman.”

“What's wrong with being childlike?” he countered. “Innocence and trust are good things. And you're never too old to skip.”

“I disagree on all counts. If you have the first two, you get hurt. And my skipping days are over.”

“More's the pity.”

“So how are you enjoying Japan?” she asked, deliberately changing the subject.

“Okay, okay. I can take a hint. Japan was great.”

“Was?”

“Yep. We wrapped things up and I came home a week early. I just got in a couple of hours ago, in fact. With a major case of jet lag,” he added, stifling a yawn. “Let me tell you, fourteen hours on a plane is
not
my idea of a great time.”

“So why aren't you sleeping?”

“That's the next item on my agenda. But first I want to hear about you. Why didn't you tell me Scott was out?”

Jess frowned. “How did you know?”

“Mom let it slip. So why didn't you tell me? I just talked to you last week.”

“Because it doesn't matter.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“That's not what Mom said.”

“What do you mean?”

“She said you're rattled.”

“I'm not rattled.”

“You sound rattled.”

“I'm not rattled!” she repeated more emphatically.

“Okay, okay! You're not rattled. Fine. So how is he?”

“How would I know?”

“Mom said you've seen him.”

Jess sighed. “What else has Mom told you?”

“That there's talk of a restraining order. Is that true?”

“The talk part is. I haven't done anything about it yet.”

“Is Scott bugging you?”

“Not really. He called once. And stopped by. Then he sent his sister to try and convince me to talk with him.”

“Did she succeed?”

“No.”

There was silence for a moment. “Do you want some advice?”

“No. But why do I think that won't stop you from giving it?” she said resignedly.

“Because you know me too well. Listen, would it hurt to talk to him, Jess? The man just spent three years in prison. Behind bars. Caged up like an animal. He's had a lot of time to think about what happened. Maybe he has some things he'd like to say to you.”

“Maybe I don't want to hear them.”

“Maybe you should.”

Jess gave a frustrated sigh. “Nothing he can say will change anything, Mark. Our marriage is over, except in name. Elizabeth is dead. The life I knew with Scott is gone. I've started over. I see no point in rehashing old hurts.”

“So how are you sleeping these days?”

At the abrupt change of subject, Jess frowned in confusion. “What?”

“How are you sleeping?”

“What has that got to do with anything?”

“Maybe a lot. Unresolved issues can prey on the mind.”

“I don't have unresolved issues,” she replied with more confidence than she felt.

“I don't buy that,” he said bluntly. “I never have. I think you need to talk to Scott and work through this. Look, Jess, I know you've vilified him in your mind. But you loved him once. Doesn't that count for anything?”

“No,” she said flatly.

Mark sighed. “Frankly, I don't buy
that,
either. I know how much you two were in love. At the risk of getting sappy, it was almost magic to watch you together. But putting all that aside for a minute, I knew Scott, too. I'm not saying he was perfect. Or that what he did wasn't wrong. But he was never a
bad
man. In fact, he had great integrity and principle. And he clearly believes that there are unresolved issues between the two of you. Deep in your heart, I think you feel the same way.”

“Since when have you become a psychiatrist?” Jess said sarcastically.

He refused to be baited by her tone. “I think it's just common sense,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“You're forgetting one thing, Mark.” A tremor of anger and pain rippled through her voice, and she took a steadying breath. “Scott killed my daughter. And I can never forget that.”

There was silence for a moment, and when Mark spoke again his voice was sober. “I understand that, Jess. But that doesn't mean you can't forgive.”

Jess drew in a sharp breath, feeling almost as if she'd been slapped. “You expect me to forgive him?” she asked incredulously.

“I leave that up to you. But holding on to hate doesn't seem very productive. In fact, it usually holds us
back.
Sometimes forgiving is the only way to move on.”

Jess had no response to that. Because, though her mind denied the truth of Mark's observation, her heart wasn't so sure.

“Are you still there?” Mark asked when the silence lengthened.

“I'm here,” she replied stiffly.

“Listen, I'm sorry if I overstepped. But I care about you, Jess. I know talking to Scott would be difficult, but it also might free you once and for all from the anger that you've carried all these years.”

Jess took a deep breath, and when she spoke she sounded weary—and spent. “I know you mean well, Mark. But this is something I have to deal with myself. And at this point I just don't want to talk to Scott.”

“Will you at least think about it?”

She hesitated. “Maybe.”

“Then enough said. Listen, I have
got
to get some rest. I'll call you again in a few days, okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Take care, Skip.”

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as the line went dead. Mark was incorrigible. But he was also
smart. The “book” smarts she'd always known about, of course. You didn't get a Harvard MBA without superior intelligence. But his insights into her psyche surprised her.

Jess's grin faded and her face grew serious. Mark hadn't said much about the tragedy during Scott's imprisonment, and the few times he'd broached the subject she'd cut him off. So he'd let it rest. Until today. Now that Scott was out, and making his intentions clear that he'd like to talk with her, Mark had apparently become a man with a mission.

And much as she hated to admit it, a lot of what he said made sense. She did still harbor a deep-seated anger. It had bubbled to the surface with surprising force after Scott's first phone call, setting her on edge and bringing back memories of the pain and betrayal she had felt following the accident. It had also brought back her own guilt feelings. And her long-suppressed “what if” questions.

Mark was right about one thing, she acknowledged. There were unresolved issues in her life. Yet something held her back from talking with Scott. Until now, she'd thought it was anger and hatred. But suddenly, with startling clarity, she realized that her reluctance was fueled by something else entirely.

Fear.

And even more troubling, she had no idea why she was afraid.

J
ess turned off the engine and drew a shaky breath. She ought to stop coming here, she told herself as she gazed at the neat rows of headstones that surrounded her. Despite the peaceful, parklike environment, this annual trek always threw her emotions into turmoil. So much so that each year, when she left, she told herself it was her last visit. That she would end this heartbreaking ritual. And each year, when Elizabeth's birthday dawned, she found herself heading back again.

Maybe this time it would be easier, she thought hopefully as she reached for the pink sweetheart rose surrounded by baby's breath and fern. For a moment she gazed at the single, perfect blossom, then gently touched the delicate petals. Pink had been Elizabeth's favorite color, she recalled wistfully, her throat tightening with emotion. And the joyful, optimistic color had suited her. But today, the gray, overcast April sky
better reflected her own mood, Jess acknowledged with a sigh.

As she began the trek to the painfully familiar spot where her daughter had been laid to rest, Jess thought back to another bleak, rainy day nearly four years before, when she'd followed this same path in the wake of the small casket carried by her father and brother. The ceremony had been private, just family and a few close friends, as she had requested. Though Scott had been out on bail, she had hoped he would honor her wishes and stay away. But when she arrived at the cemetery he had been there, along with Karen and her family. They stood on one side of the grave, she and her family on the other, the gulf that had separated them far wider than the narrow opening in the ground.

She'd glanced once at Scott—only once—during the brief service. The raw grief in his haggard face, the desperate apology in his eyes had been powerful enough to penetrate her own mantle of sorrow and momentarily touch her heart. But she'd quickly averted her gaze, refusing to be moved by his anguish. He deserved to suffer for what he had done, she'd thought, hatred welling up inside her. And she never wanted to see him again. At her lawyer's request, he had cleared his things out of their house while she was in the hospital recovering from the concussion she had sustained in the accident. By the time she returned home, there was little evidence that he'd ever lived there. She had no idea where he'd gone. And she didn't care.

When the minister finished his prayers, he'd walked over and offered words of condolence that echoed hol
lowly in her heart. She'd listened numbly until he'd said that the Lord would watch over her in her sorrow, and then anger had bubbled up inside her. It had taken every ounce of her willpower not to lash out at him, to ask where the Lord had been the night Elizabeth had died in a wreckage of twisted metal while Scott had walked away untouched. As if sensing her feelings, her parents had pressed close beside her, thanking the minister in her place. Then they had gently taken her arms, urging her to leave.

As she'd stumbled unseeingly across the grassy expanse, her eyes blinded by tears, she had taken one final glance over her shoulder. Karen and her family had moved off to one side, leaving Scott alone beside the small casket. He was crouched down, one hand resting on the smooth surface. As if sensing her gaze, he had looked up at her, his eyes bleak and lost and almost shell-shocked, as if to say, “How did this happen? How can Elizabeth be gone? And how have we come to this, you and I, we who were once so happy and so in love?”

But Jess had simply turned away, leaving him alone with questions to which she had no answers.

Jess choked back a sob as she now retraced her steps on this familiar path, digging in the pocket of her raincoat for a tissue. She still had no answers, nearly four years later. All she knew was that she wished she could go back to the time of Elizabeth's birth, before the seductive glamour of success had eaten away at the foundation of their marriage, when their three-person circle of love had been the center of
their world. That had been the happiest time in her life.

Her eyes filled with tears, and she dabbed at the corners with her tissue, trying to clear her vision so that she didn't trip on the uneven turf or a ground-level headstone. In fact, she was so focused on her footing that she had almost reached Elizabeth's grave before she realized that someone was already there.

Jess stopped abruptly and stared at the familiar broad back. It was Scott, on his knees, sitting back on his heels, a discarded flowerpot and trowel beside him. One of his hands rested on the small headstone, and his head was bent.

Jess almost stopped breathing. She did
not
want to see Scott again! Especially here. For a moment panic overwhelmed her, but she forced herself to think logically. Her best plan was to make a quiet retreat, drive around for a few minutes, then return after he'd gone, she decided. Her heart hammering in her chest, she turned and began to walk rapidly away. But she'd gone only a few steps when his voice reached out to her across the stillness.

“Jess.”

The intensity in his hoarse plea made her step falter.

“Please. Stay.”

She wanted to ignore him. Wanted to keep walking. But something in his voice reached deep into her soul, compelling her to turn. And once she did, there was no way she could walk away.

Scott was still on his knees, his face raw with grief. Tears ran unchecked down his face, and the anguish in his eyes so closely mirrored what was in her heart
that she could almost feel his pain as hers. At least in this one thing they still shared a tragic bond, she realized, her throat tightening with emotion.

They stared at each other in silence for a long moment, their gazes locked, and then Scott slowly rose, never breaking eye contact. Finally, with an effort, he tore his gaze from hers and transferred it to the flower she held.

“I see we both had the same idea,” he said softly.

Jess glanced down at the grave to find that he had planted a miniature pink rosebush in front of the headstone. Her eyes blurred with tears, and she took several deep breaths, blinking rapidly to clear her vision. She would
not
break down, she told herself fiercely. She would cry later, in private, as she had been doing for the past four years. She was not going to share her grief with the man who had caused it.

When she finally worked up the courage to gaze at him again, she realized that Scott didn't seem to share her concern about revealing his emotions. With a jolt of surprise she noted that he'd made no attempt to erase the evidence of his tears. She stared at him, completely taken aback by this uncharacteristic behavior. In all the years she'd known him, she'd never seen him cry. He'd been stoic through sadness and through pain, priding himself on his strength to endure all that came his way. Now he stood before her in undisguised grief, seemingly comfortable with his vulnerability. Offering yet more evidence that he had truly changed, she acknowledged reluctantly.

Scott reached down to retrieve the pot and trowel, then stepped aside in silent invitation for Jess to come
forward and place her own offering on the grave. For a moment she hesitated. What she really wanted to do was retreat to the safety of her car. She felt off balance, unsure how to react to this new Scott, no clue what he might do next. As if he understood her confusion and uncertainty, he backed off several paces to allow her to maintain a sense of personal space.

Jess realized that turning away at this point would be foolish. So she moved forward slowly until she stood directly in front of the headstone. She rested her hand on the smooth stone, as Scott had done, then knelt and gently laid the rose on the grave. After a moment she raised her gaze to her daughter's name, etched in granite, and with an unsteady hand ran her fingers over the letters. Elizabeth Grace Mitchell. Her gaze lingered on the name she and Scott had so carefully chosen to honor their mothers, a combination of their middle names. Then her gaze moved lower, to the dates of Elizabeth's brief life, and finally to the words at the end. “Cherished daughter of Jess and Scott Mitchell.” At first she'd planned to put only her name in the inscription. But in the end, when it had come time to erect the headstone several months after the interment, she'd been unable to leave Scott's name off. For all his sins, she'd never doubted his love for Elizabeth.

“Thank you for that. I didn't expect it.”

Scott's voice, raw with emotion, told her that the gesture had not been lost on him.

“I know you loved her, Scott,” she whispered brokenly, her head bent as she fought the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes.

Scott's gut clenched painfully as he looked at the woman he loved, kneeling in grief on the grave of the daughter he'd killed, her slender shoulders hunched in anguish. Her hair had swung forward, hiding her face, but he could imagine the emotions that were reflected there. Because they were the same ones that were in his heart. A sense of loss that left you cold and empty inside. A dark despair that made you wonder if life would ever be bright again. A deep, aching loneliness that never went away. And for him there was guilt, as well. Deep, wrenching guilt that had almost driven him mad, until Reverend Young had helped him to believe in, and open himself to, the healing power of God. Though it had taken many months, he had finally made his peace with the Almighty. But in many ways, that had been easier than the challenge he faced with Jess, he realized with a heavy heart. Because God was always willing to give those who repented a second chance. The same didn't necessarily hold true for people. Even for those who have loved us.

Scott yearned to reach down and pull Jess into his arms, to hold her until the remorse and love in his heart seeped into the core of her being, until she knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that he had changed, that his love for her had never diminished and that with all his heart he wanted a second chance to prove to her that this time it would be different. No, he couldn't bring Elizabeth back. Dear God, he would give his life if he could! But he would do everything in his power to bring joy back into Jess's life and to be the husband she deserved, one who never forgot that the greatest of gifts was love.

Once more Jess laid her hand on top of the small monument and then made a move to stand. Instinctively Scott stepped beside her, reaching down to assist her. At his touch on her arm she turned, startled, and he almost backed off at the alarm in her eyes. But something told him to remain where he was.

“Let me help,” he said quietly, holding his ground.

She stared at him wide-eyed. Even through her raincoat she could feel the firm, sure touch of his fingers. Her breath caught in her throat as memories came flooding back of the way his strong but gentle hands had always known how to work magic. To be comforting, sensuous, powerful, playful, depending on her mood or her need. He'd been so attuned to her emotions in the beginning that it had sometimes taken her breath away, she recalled with a pang. But that, too, had changed as ambition usurped his energy and attention.

For a long moment they simply looked at each other, their gazes locked, until the overpowering intensity finally compelled Jess into action. With Scott's assistance she rose shakily to her feet, then quickly stepped back, forcing him to drop his hold.

Scott seemed as shaken as she was by the brief touch. She saw his Adam's apple bob convulsively when he swallowed, saw him take a deep breath. Then he withdrew the Bible that had been tucked under his arm.

“Do you mind if I read a verse?” he asked in a voice that was ragged around the edges.

Jess shrugged, and when she replied her own voice was none too steady. “If you want to.”

“Is there anything special you'd like to hear?”

“It doesn't matter.”

He looked at her curiously. “You always had favorite verses. I'm sorry to say I don't remember what they were. I guess I never paid much attention in those days. But I'd be happy to read one if you'd remind me.”

Her gaze cooled. “It really doesn't matter,” she said more firmly. “I don't read the Bible anymore.”

He frowned. “Why not?”

“I haven't kept up with my faith since…for the last few years.”

His eyes filled with understanding and compassion. “It's hard to believe when things happen that don't make sense.”

“That doesn't seem to be the case for you.”

His eyes grew troubled. “Before I found my way back to the Lord, I had some pretty dark days, Jess,” he said quietly.

She thought of Karen's comments about Scott's time in prison. How he had wanted to die. How he lost forty pounds in the first few months. How his hands had shaken so badly. How he'd always had a hopeless look in his eyes. And how she had worried about him every day. Apparently he had truly known some dark—and desperate—days. Which made Scott's return to the Lord even more remarkable, she realized.

“So what happened to renew your faith?” she heard herself asking.

“One of the prison chaplains took me under his wing. Made me realize that I wasn't as alone as I felt, that the Lord doesn't desert us even when we make
terrible, tragic mistakes. I didn't buy it at first. But finally, after months of talking and prayer, I began to feel His healing power in my heart.”

“Lucky you.” Jess had meant to sound sarcastic. But underlying the sarcasm was an unmistakable wistfulness.

“It wasn't luck. It was a miracle,” he said simply.

She had no response to that.

He held up the Bible again. “Do you mind?”

Silently she shook her head.

Scott opened the book and thumbed through it familiarly, stopping when he came to Psalms. And then, in a steady, measured voice he began to read a passage that Jess had once known by heart.

“‘The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. In verdant pastures He gives me repose; beside restful waters He leads me; He refreshes my soul. He guides me in right paths for His name's sake. Even though I walk in the dark valley I fear no evil; for You are at my side with Your rod and Your staff that give me courage. You spread the table before me in the sight of my foes; You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Only goodness and kindness follow me all the days of my life; and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord for years to come.”'